


Down Time

by TinyFakeFanficRock



Series: Ad meliora [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Forbidden Attraction, Masturbation, Rape Recovery, Sexual Fantasy, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 21:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13280424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyFakeFanficRock/pseuds/TinyFakeFanficRock
Summary: Mel indulges herself -- rather more than she means to.





	Down Time

**Author's Note:**

> Content note/clarification of tags: This story discusses masturbation as a method of helping oneself heal from sexual trauma, and Mel at one point has a brief but vivid memory of the first time Vulpes raped her, when she was seventeen. Proceed (or not) accordingly, neighbours.

When they reached Novac, they split up to run errands. Arcade traded with Ada Straus for medical supplies and then went to visit his aunt. Veronica took the worst-off of their gear, including Mel's armor, to Old Lady Gibson for repairs; they'd probably talk tinkering shop for a while after that. Craig hauled a sack of the guns they'd found up to Mel's hotel room, where he could repair them so they'd be worth more when Cass sold them. At the moment Cass was renewing her acquaintance with the traveling merchants by drinking whiskey with them not far from where they'd tied up their pack Brahmins; she claimed it'd make them more inclined to cut her a better deal once the trading started. Mel's job was to buy groceries from Cliff and turn them into rations.

Ruby Nash's casserole was filling, kept well, and was well-liked by the group, but once he'd learned the recipe, Arcade had pleaded for a non-venomous version. Mel had considered a few possible alternatives and when she found Cliff had just gotten in a surprisingly varied shipment of fresh food, she decided to try them all.

She didn't see any reason to take up precious oven time in Novac's community kitchen when she still had the key to the monster-woman's house and its full complement of dishes, so Mel let herself in and started preparing the smaller test versions. Three of her four potential recipes turned out well, so she decided to make full-size versions of those. There was only room for two pans in the stove at the same time, so she put in the first two, prepared the third, and washed all the dishes she was finished using. A few doneness checks later, she exchanged those two pans for the third.

The last casserole needed about forty minutes to bake. Slicing and packing up the first two took five minutes; scrubbing their pans took another five. That left her with half an hour of down time entirely to herself. She could -- and should -- wash herself before returning, but that took maybe ten minutes if she didn't rush. There was only one other thing she hadn't done in a while that she really _needed_ privacy for. And, well ... she had that here, didn't she?

Mel checked that the door was locked, then stripped off her pants and stretched out on the bed, trying not to think about what kind of person she was for doing this in the bed of a woman she'd helped to kill. It'd already taken her a long time to get to the point of even considering it as a pleasant way to pass the time. The first time she'd tried, she'd been unable to sleep in a shabby New Reno motel. On the other side of the thin wall her bed was pushed up against, two men were loudly having an amazing time together, and after a while, she thought, _Well, hell, everyone else in this town is getting off, might as well try, too._

So she unbuttoned her pants, slowly slid her hand into her panties, and brushed two fingertips against her clit. Her hips jerked up into the pressure automatically -- just as they had that first night _he_ explored her, searching out the weak points he spent the next four years using against her. He'd laughed, dipped his long, slim fingers into her, held them under her nose so she could smell her involuntary arousal, and taunted her that her body knew he owned her even if she hadn't accepted it yet. The memory was still so vivid that she immediately fastened her pants, scrubbed her hands with the strongest-smelling of the slivers of soap stuck to the sink, and read herself to sleep instead.

It had been almost a year before she touched herself again, and when she did, there were many false starts that ended with her hating herself for enjoying the same movements _he_ had once used on her. But eventually she found solace in being able to control what happened, the speed and the pressure and whether it was happening at all. When she finally managed to bring herself to climax, she felt like she'd taken back a part of herself.

Fantasies came later still, only about two years ago. Now when Mel saw to these needs, she constructed a lover in her mind's eye, a new one every time. It wouldn't do to get attached to a particular appearance in case she happened to meet such a man in reality. Then she might be tempted to get close, and closeness could be deadly -- for her or for any lover she took.

In the privacy of her own head, however, she could fuck anyone she wanted, any way she wanted. Mel exhaled, slid her hand into her panties, and started to imagine the man she wanted today. He was always broad and muscular to contrast with Kit and her husband's lean, lithe builds, but the other details had to vary. So light-skinned for once, with his head shaved; the last few had been long-haired, and she needed to stop before she developed a type.

She imagined them already naked together, her sitting in his lap while they kissed, his body hard against her -- particularly in one place -- but his touches soft. He cradled the back of her head in one hand while the other rubbed her back. After a few more long, tender kisses, he turned her so she faced away, set his lips against her neck, and gently nudged her legs apart from below with his own.

Mel let out a low, hissing breath and circled her clit with two fingers, imagining her lover's thick, callused fingers there instead as his tongue traced curves on her neck that had her arching into his touch. His free hand found her breast and squeezed her nipple just right; in response she let her head loll back on his shoulder. Sometimes her lovers talked to her, whispered their desires in her ear, but this one was silent, totally focused on her reactions as he switched to the other nipple and teased two fingers around her entrance. He had her spread, soaked, and spellbound, but still, she felt utterly safe in his arms.

This particular fantasy lover seemed familiar; perhaps she was subconsciously borrowing from men she'd liked in the past. Maybe the bartender in Anza-Borrego with the kind eyes. _Analyze this later_ , she told herself irritably, and moved her fingers down to gather more moisture from her entrance before returning them to her clit.

He clearly enjoyed driving her wild with these strokes and kisses, but when she moaned desperately, "Oh, God, _please_ ," and bucked against him, he entered her immediately instead of making her keep begging. He kept his fingers in place between her legs and used his other arm to press her against his broad chest while she rocked her hips atop him. At this angle, his thick cock hit the sweet spot just behind her clit, and he was still kissing her neck while they fucked -- fuck -- _fuck_ \--

Mel pressed her fingers down, legs stiffening and body bowing upward as she came hard, gasping. _Damn, that was a good one._ She lay sprawled and panting for a minute or so more, then rose, washed, and dressed, all the while trying to work out what about that fantasy had made it so compelling. Not their position -- it was one she liked thinking about, but she'd never reacted quite like that to it before. She hadn't imagined him touching her in any new way, either, which left ... something about the man himself? She _had_ thought him familiar, even though the features she'd picked today weren't her favorites.

She was still turning it over at sundown when she returned to her room to rendezvous with the others. When she saw the glow of a cigarette on the balcony, it hit her: The fantasy lover she'd created this time very much resembled Craig. _Shit_.

The realization had her flattening herself against the far wall of the nearest house, as if once he saw her he would know what she'd been doing -- what she'd been thinking. God, he trusted her -- well, as much as he trusted anyone -- and she was spending her down time fantasizing about -- _No._ She hadn't been thinking anything specifically about him, and even if she had, it was an impossibility. A moment of her pleasure was not worth the man's life. That was that. This could never happen again.


End file.
